


Something Inevitable

by Milky (Batman_in_Lingerie)



Category: Hitman (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, Identity Porn, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23496679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman_in_Lingerie/pseuds/Milky
Summary: An unexpected guest at the Sanguine fashion show leads to an evening of firsts for Agent 47.
Relationships: Agent 47/Jordan Cross
Comments: 10
Kudos: 41





	Something Inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this for a while and figured now was as good as time as any to post it. This was mostly written as a result of me wanting some 47/Jordan smut, and realizing there was none, so if I wanted it, I'd need to write it myself. 
> 
> This is for any others out there who thought the same as me, I hope this fic lives up to your expectations!

47 rarely had issues with someone not doing what he wanted them to do.

People were easy to manipulate, after all. In fact, most assassinations were merely a complex equation of manipulations. Change a person's path, say a chaste sentence, and people, inevitably, will fall. 

As he looked around the grounds that would eventually play host to two new additions to 47's ever growing list, he couldn’t help but marvel at the abundant crowd around him, ignorant to what was about to unfold. To them, the idea that they were anything other than safe here, was an impossibility. Death was something that happened to other people, and the realization that what they thought was a lie, wouldn’t strike them until it was too late.

He made his way through the crowd, towards the bar. When he reached it and lifted the glass of wine to his lips, his stare caught the man across from him, and almost immediately the man in question turned away, going back to his conversation without giving 47 another glance. It never bothered him; the rejection. If anything, he reveled in it. It was part of why he was so successful. He had an intensity about him, as Diana once said, and that intensity led people to not pay too much mind to his actions, less they incur something that was vaguely alluded to by that unspoken aura.

After gleaning some information about Decker’s meeting with Novikov, he backed away from the bar, his now empty wine glass left for the nearby waiter to pick up. His mind worked on the equation before him, and as though on autopilot, he knocked the man behind him as the waiter went to squeeze past them both. The man gasped, his glass of champagne falling to the floor with a loud shatter. The waiter stopped, his eyes going wide as apologies flew from his lips. 

The waiter rushed off, leaving the man to complain quietly about incompetent staff to anyone who would listen. With an idea in mind, 47 slid away and followed after the waiter, matching his pace easily.

When the waiter went down the stairs to the basement, 47 followed, ducking out of view of the nearby guards as he walked down the steps. He didn’t waste a second. As the man stepped through the door, 47 slid behind him. Once be heard the click of the door, his arms snaked around the man's neck.

A pulse ran through him as he waited for the fighting to stop. The usual urge to keep his arms there longer, to twist his hands and hear that familiar snap, hit him, but he smothered it away as soon as it arose. Unwarranted collateral damage was never allowed on a mission, and Diana would never let him here the end of it if a random waiter joined his list of names. So he waited until the man man drifted out of consciousness, before lugging him into a nearby crate. At this point in his career he didn't exactly feel sympathy, especially not for the man before him. After all, he would be alive once the evening ended. Others would not be as fortunate. He went about pulling off his clothes, keeping his ears trained for the sound of approaching footsteps as he worked.

Once finished, he searched for the mop and bucket. 

He went back up to the party, and as predicted no one saw through his disguise. The clothes were only part of it. 47 was aware that the way you held yourself did more to make you blend in than your outfit ever could. Even the man who looked right at him before, glanced in his direction and only saw a beleaguered waiter, going about his job. 

As he returned the mop he walked passed some other waiters, and filed their conversation away for later reference. Bare knuckle boxer. Novikov’s favourite. Diana seemed to mirror his intrigue and voiced the observation herself. Cocktails offered many opportunities for poisoning, and whilst 47 preferred the personal touch, he couldn't deny how easy poisons made things sometimes.

In this moment, he was in the mood as well as position to do a more thorough investigation of the Palace and its underbelly. He walked around the cellar, and tried to glean some more information from the workers down here before coming across the security room. It wasn't much. A few old monitors and a VHS recorder. One guard sat at the desk, watching the screens with a bored stare that immediately went to 47 as he walked in. "Hey." He offered.

  
  
47 nodded his head towards the monitors. “Can you see everyone from these?”

The man gave a small nod. “Yeah, anyone you got your eye on?”

  
“A woman insulted me earlier." 47 muttered as he walked further into the room. "Let’s just say her drink is more saliva than vodka. I just wanted to see if she’s enjoying it.”

The guard gave a huff of a laugh before sliding his chair to the side, making room for 47. “Sure, man. Sure. What does she look like?”

47 approached the monitors and tried to take in as much as he could. He saw guests, technicians, and Novikov moving through them all. He spotted a woman take a sip from her drink and pointed to her absently, his eyes going back to the task of observing the monitors intently. “Her. The blond one.”

The guard looked at the woman closely before giving a slow nod. “Yeah, looks like a right bitch that one. My brother was a caterer, so I know how shitty these kind of gigs can be.” He gave 47 a look, his voice lowering. “I mean, short of killing them, I don’t care what you all do. I believe in karma, and if these jerks want to be assholes to the staff, they just got to remember what goes around comes around.”

“That's a good philosophy to hold.” 47 said as his eyes caught the garden camera, where one man stood being photographed. “Who's that?” He said his finger raised to the screen. 

“Who?” The man leant forward, squinting at the screen, before blowing a raspberry. “You mean Helmut? Do you live under a rock, man? Or are you blind, because his face is the one plastered on the giant poster on the front of the building.” The man regarded him for a second his stare turning pensive. “In fact, you look a Hell of a lot like him. You two related?”

  
47 gave a small quirk of the lips, that luckily conveyed a sense of mischief. “I know who he is, and no we’re not related.” He jerked his head to the screens. “I just couldn't see him too clearly on these monitors. The quality is terrible.” 

The man gave a sigh. “I know. You’d think they'd have set up a decent system here, but nope. We've got monitors older than me and a recording system that's even older.” He gestured to the machine behind him with a grimace. “I mean, who still used VHS?”

“Geriatric homes, and this place, evidently.”  
  


“I know right?" The man laughed. "My granny is the only one I know who still hasn't gone digital. Fact is, if someone so much as looks at that thing wrong it stops recording. At least with digital you’re better off if something does happen. Police come here and ask for anything, we'd have to pray the tapes caught it. Lets just hope there are no art heists planned for this evening. Or if there is, at least not on my shift.”

47 gave a quiet hum before letting his eyes go back to the blurred image on the screen before him. He turned back to the security guard offering the barest of smiles. “Thank you for letting me see this, it was rather interesting.” 

The man perked up, gesturing to the monitors. “No sweat man, been cool chatting with you. If any more rich bitches think their shit don't stink, make sure to give it to them.” 

“Don't worry. I will.” As he left he waited for the security guard to turn back around, and as he did he reached across to the recorder, and pressed the off button. 

Going back upstairs he made his way towards the gardens. As he stepped out into the night air he breathed in deep. Although there were more guards present here, he felt more at ease. There was less noise. Fewer civilians. More opportunities. He pressed forwards, walking across the grounds with a confident stride, and made his way towards the flower beds beside the river.

Even those under high security let their guards down eventually. 47 lived for those moments. Those lapses in judgement that would lead to successful mission for him, and a sore throat for them. It didn’t take long for Helmut to do just that, pulling off from his photographer and armed escorts to come to where 47 lay in wait. As he spoke on the phone, 47 couldn't stop a sense of anticipation rise within himself. A private meeting with Dahlia? How could he say no? 

As Helmut hung up, he lunged across the flower bed and pulled him over, his arms tightening around his neck. Helmut fought hard. His hands gripping 47’s as he tried in vain to pull himself free. A call for help tried to escape, but was lost as soon as it reached his lips, dying in a breath of air as he drifted unconscious. 

The clothes fit surprisingly well, and aside from a guard getting slightly too close for comfort as he dressed he was left largely alone. Once the coast was clear, he dragged Helmut somewhere more secluded in and amongst the grass and flowers before heading back to the party, calling Dahlia as he did. After the show he was to head upstairs, to her office. Perfect.

The reactions to his appearance were pretty much what he expected, the outfit did enough to disguise him to those less acquainted with Helmut's face, even without any makeup on. He didn't want to risk it for too long though, so kept his head down and his pace quick as he made his way back to the makeup room. He found an artist further from the rest of them, newer from the looks of his shy demeanor and hopefully not as likely to notice that Helmut Kruger apparently got cosmetic surgery in the 15 minutes he'd been outside.

He had to hand it to the artist, he did a good job, in remarkable time, too. As he looked at himself in the mirror he gave a chaste nod. “Nice work.” He said as he turned around in his chair, and as predicted the man's blush was noticeable. 

  
“Wow. Thanks Mr. Kruger.” He said with a shy smile. 47 slipped away from him, intending to go to Dahlia, only to be stopped by a frantic man, in questionable dress. 

“Helmut. On stage now.” Diana thankfully filled him in that this was Sato, the designer responsible for the clothes he was wearing. Even he didn't give 47 a second look as he gestured to the runway with a quick wave of the hand. 

“You got it.” He said as he strode past him, walking towards where a few woman stood waiting. Their eyes followed his movements as he made his way onto stage and the audience roared as soon as the lights hit him. 47 felt their energy infuse him, he walked with purpose and ease, and leaf the stage as he entered it; in a cloud of applause.

He received praise as he walked through the back room, but he hardly heard them as his mind focused on the task of planning his next steps.

Dahlia, his mind supplemented and he quickly made his way through the cocktail party towards where he knew she was. Some people tried to stop him for a chat, but he managed to brush them all off. All except one.

  
“Helmut!” He paused as he turned towards the voice. He vaguely recognized the man and made a noise in the back of his throat. One he and Diana had established long ago meant a request for information. 

  
“That is Jordan Cross.” Dianna piped in. “Indie rocker extraordinaire. You appeared in a few of his videos Mr. Kruger. Perhaps it's time for a catch up?”

He regarded the man in front of him. He was leaning heavily on the table next to him, in a poor excuse for a suit. The pant legs barely reached his ankles and the jacket appeared to be some amalgamation of tweed and sequins. 

His face though. Was what caught 47. 

47 always considered himself asexual. In fact. He was certain he was. He never felt anything for anyone, male or female. He didn't feel worse for killing a woman, and felt nothing by looking at them. Men, it was much the same. 

Cross however, held his eye. He contemplated walking away. He could pretend he never saw the man and continue with his mission. It felt like a bad idea to stay and look at the man’s face more than necessary, especially with how well he was handling it so far. Yet he didn’t move. 

“Don't act like you don't see me.” Jordan said with a coy smile as he put down his glass and made his way over to 47 and wrapped his arms around him in a loose hug. “Look at you all big and famous. I remember when you were a small time model in my videos.” He pulled back, his smile still there. “How times have changed.” 

He tried to focus, but that smile unhinged him. There was something in those eyes that 47 simply couldn’t place. “Jordan.” He said, trying to emulate the voice he heard earlier as best he could. “How you doing?”

He brought 47 over to his table. There was a Cicada agent with him, his stare an odd mix of ‘i’m not pay attention’ and ‘i’m watching your every move’ but he looked away as Jordan spoke. “Not bad, not bad. Gotta admit, didn’t think i’d even show up to this type of shindig, but when I heard you'd be here, I was like, fuck yeah!” He gave a grin before making a vague swiping motion to the bar. “The free alcohol is great, don't get me wrong, but a bunch of rich assholes watching pretty ladies strut up and down a runway is not my idea of fun.” He returned his gaze to 47, and there it was again, that look that 47 couldn’t place, and he must have mirrored that look of confusion to his features more than he realised as Cross heaved a sigh, turning his head to the agent beside him. “Hey, you, James Bond wannabe. Can you leave me and Helmut to chat in peace?”

The man obviously didn’t want to, but perhaps weighing out the possibility of Cross coming into any danger, along with the fact that Jordan Cross was apparently a bit of a diva, meant he did as he was told, retreating to the far wall of the room to keep watch. As soon as he was away, Jordan turned back to him, moving in closer. “Come on, don’t make me say it out loud...” He murmured.

  
“Say what?” 47 asked, attempting an air of challenge which thankfully paid off. Jordan moved forward, his lips ghosting his ear.

  
  
“I want you. I want you so fucking bad.” He whispered, and even the alcohol in his voice didn't distract from the sheer want in those words. 47 felt his stomach flutter and his mind go momentarily blank as he tried to focus on staying upright. He completely forgot for a moment why he was even here, what he was doing, and who he was even dressed as. He even forgot Diana’s presence, listening to every word spoken as he stood there frozen. 

When her voice came into his ear he gave a jolt. “Well 47, it appears you have a decision to make. Perhaps a private audience with Cross could provide some useful information?” Her voice was light, with the barest hint of laugh hidden among the words. 47 reached for his ear, and turned off the earpiece. Though in that moment, he wasn't even aware he had done it. 

  
“Do you now?” He muttered as Jordan’s eyes slide half closed, his bottom lip in between his teeth.

He gave a slow nod, “Oh yeah. God, I thought about it the whole flight over here. It’s a good thing I have a private jet ‘cause my pants got tight a whole lot on that flight.” He leaned in closer, his face filling 47’s vision, those eyes piercing into him. “I didn't think I could feel things like that, but you...” he actually shivered and 47 felt his heart race. He was in uncharted waters, and again his mind was on autopilot.

“My room. Now.” He said and Jordan’s breath hitched in response. He turned from him sharply, his gait slightly off as he walked away. Whatever apparent spell he was under dissipated the further he moved away from Jordan, until eventually he was able to get his mind back to it's normal state. He turned on the hearing device and spoke, his voice low. “Where in the building is Kruger staying?”

“Up the stairs. Down the hallway, second door on your right.” He reached to turn her off again, but before he could she spoke up. “Have fun, 47.”

He made his way up the stairs and across the hall, a guard stood by his door and stepped aside as he approached. The quiet echoes of Jordan’s hurried steps could be heard rising from the stairwell behind him and he turned to the man by the door. “Go for a cigarette break.” His eyes narrowed by a fraction. “A long one.” 

The man didn’t need to be told twice and walked off, leaving 47 with his thoughts, and without Jordan’s face to distract him, he felt the full weight of the situation he had put himself in fall upon him.

He could knock him out, he thought, though he wasn’t sure what that would accomplish. He couldn’t pass himself off as Cross and his absence from the party wouldn't help the mission in any way that he could theorize. No, in fact, this situation didn’t have any ulterior purpose. He was doing it because he wanted to. He tried not to let the enormity of that realization dawn on him.

He was sitting in one of the plush armchairs by the time Jordan entered, his movements full of pent up energy. He closed the door behind him and leant against it. Eyes wide. “Are we really going to do this?” 

47 gave a mild shrug. “Why shouldn’t we?”

  
Jordan sighed and brought his hands up to his face. “Jesus, a lot of reasons? One, Hannah? My girlfriend? Doubt she’d be happy if she found out about this.” He paced the room, his eyes catching the dresser, as well as the decanter of wine sat upon it. He walked over, unplugged the stopper and drank from it in long draws.

“Who’s going to tell her?” 47 murmured, keeping his stare on Cross. 

His shoulders shook gently as he sipped the wine. “I won’t, but it’s more than that… It’s-” he huffed and set the bottle down. “I felt like I fucked up everything so bad last time. Like, I thought when you saw me tonight, you were gonna walk straight past me, act like you didn't even know who I was and I honestly _that's_ what I prepared for.” He frowned. “Not this.”

47 rose from his seat, walking languidly towards Cross and pressing up against him. He was shaking, 47 realised, from the adrenaline, the alcohol, he couldn’t tell, but those tremors caused a portion of 47’s brain to go haywire. It was the same sensation he felt when he strangled someone, that same feeling over power over an individual. “You didn't think I felt the same?” He managed to say. 

“I know I ran before we could talk, but I thought you saw it as a one time thing. It seemed easier to just jet before I started confessing weird shit to you, you know?” 

“Like what?” 

Jordan gave a half laugh. “Well, like I want you to bend me over and fuck me raw.” He turned around to 47, his hands running up across his front, resting at his collar bone. “Because I do, especially after tonight. Seeing you walk that runway, you looked like a fucking God." He gave another breathy chuckle. "And you must have been working out, ‘cause fuck…” his hand ran along his shoulder down to his arms, giving the muscle there a short squeeze. “I bet you could throw me onto the bed if you wanted to...” 

47 pressed his lips into a firm line, his heart racing. “I could.” He said as evenly as he could manage. Cross wasn't a small man but any means, but he lacked the muscle 47 had. He was slender, and the further 47 examined his body the further his mind grew blank, until he caught those eyes once more. Saw the glint they held as he spoke. “But I could do plenty of other things.”

  
“Oh?” Cross breathed out, as he leant in close. 

47 didn’t reply with words, but with the surge of his mouth onto Cross’s. The response was immedient, as Jordan's hands ran behind his neck, pulling him close. 

The room was thankfully dark as 47 could already feel the makeup on his lips rubbing away as Jordan’s mouth worked against his. For a moment he wondered what he would do if Jordan saw past his disguise. He was tipsy and they had gotten this far without him noticing, and yet, the threat was ever present. He could only hope enough paint stayed on to keep his face more than a touch obscured as the night progressed. 

As they kissed, he felt Jordan’s hands working off his coat and before long it fell in a heap on the floor around him. Jordan made a noise as his hands landed on 47’s arms once more, this time without the barrier of the coat to obscure the muscle. He pulled back, his eyes wide. “Jesus what have you been doing? They’re like iron or something.”

  
  
“Why don’t I show you?” 47 said, his voice breezing right into Jordan’s ear. He lifted him easily, not missing how Jordan gasped. In one fluid motion, 47 threw him onto the bed, approaching the edge of it slowly as Jordan looked up at him.

For a moment he didn’t speak, looking up at him with wide eyes. 47 thought of what to do next, but before he could do anything, Jordan surged onto him, his lips frantic. 

  
It was more than a little obvious that strength was a key turn on for Jordan, his hands making repeated trips back to 47’s biceps and moaning particularly loudly when he tried to press up against 47 only for the man to not move so much an inch despite Jordan’s ministrations. 

They pulled the rest of the outfit off and when Jordan lay back and took the sight that was 47 in, his mouth fell open. “Jesus Christ...” He said quietly, his eyes trailing him up and down. “You really are a God.” 

47 smirked. “Now let me see you.”

Jordan blushed as he removed his own clothes, his hands fumbling over the many zips and buttons. 47 didn’t complain however, taking the time to try and calm himself down. He needed to be prepared should the worst occur, and he couldn't exactly do that with Jordan's tongue down his throat.

When he was naked he didn't look at 47, his hands gripping the bedding as his stare remained firmly on the floor. 47 didn’t know what compelled him, but he reached forward and pulled the elastic band holding Jordan's hair up. It came down in thick waves around his face. Jordan looked up through his lashes, and 47 felt his heart pound harder. “Good?”

  
“Perfect.” He said quietly and Jordan got to his knees and pulled 47 towards the edge of the bed. 

They kept kissing, and before long everything that was not inside this room fled from 47's mind. His meeting with Dahlia. The contract. The entire reason he was here in the first place was all gone until only Jordan remained. Those eyes, that face, everything about him stole 47’s attention wholly and completely. 

His hand soon found Jordan's erection. “Fuck! Please, please-”

  
  
47 tucked his face into his collar bone, murmuring quietly into the damp skin. “On the bed.” 

Jordan didn't need to be told twice, he pulled from 47 and braced himself on the bed beneath them. Arching his back and peering back over his shoulder at 47 through half lidded eyes. His cheeks were flushed pink and 47 wondered how much of this he was aware of. Something about the idea of Jordan being too drunk crossed his mind, and surprisingly, halted him. “How much have you had to drink tonight?”

  
  
“Huh?” Jordan said quickly, sitting back up. “Not that much, I swear.”

  
  
“Jordan…” He said slowly, his voice dipping.

  
  
“Okay.” He held up his hands. “So I'm a little drunk, but I promise i'm sober enough to know I want to do this. I came all the way to _Paris_ to do this, this is something I _want_ to do, and as long as you want to do it to, I-”

  
  
It was all 47 needed. That quiet needling which he presumed to be what a normal person would call a ‘conscious’ quieted down, and he surged on Cross once more, holding him close and letting his hands run down his body.

They fell against the bed, and with a bit more maneuvering, Jordan was underneath him, his ass pressed against 47’s cock. A certain urge overwhelmed 47, the urge to bite, to fight, but he didn’t allow it to manifest, he pulled back and took a breath. “I need something for this.” He said, his hand resting on Jordan’s cheeks.

  
“I- just- look.” He let out a frustrated sigh, bucking up into 47’s hand, urging it to keep touching him. “Jacket!” He yelled out.

47 looked down at the pile of clothing on the floor, and bent over to examine it more closely. He found a small bottle of lubricate in the pocket of the jacket and let out a huff. “Did you use this on the plane, too?”

Jordan let out a groan, burying his face into the pillow. “Please, _please_ just touch me again.”

  
“When you beg so sweetly, Jordan, how can I refuse?” He put a sizable amount on his hand and slathered it over his fingers, finding Jordan’s ass and parting his cheeks, delving deep with his fingers until he found what he wanted. 

He kept a finger pressed against the ring of muscle and when Jordan’s breath hitched, he slipped it in fully.

Jordan bucked against the bedding, keening and jutting his ass up higher to try and meet 47’s fingers. “Fuck, more! _Harder_.” 

Harder. Once he heard the word, it played on repeat inside his mind, urging him to do just as was requested. To go hard. To give no respite. To writhe with Jordan in a way that the man would neither expect nor could ever anticipate. It called out to him, that single word, and 47’s vision darkened, before he felt the bedding shift under him, until he felt someone in front of him, until a hand rested over his heart.

  
“Hey.” Came Jordan’s voice, soft and gentle across his mind, quelling whatever was inside of him for the moment. He came back to reality and looked at Jordan, concern growing for the simple fact that the man was able to draw 47 in from the darkness so completely with barely any effort. With only a word. No, not just a word- it was those eyes. 

But Jordan's hand was still there on him, over his heart. “Are you okay? You sort of spaced out.”

  
“I'm fine.” He said slowly. “I was just-” 

  
“Don't-” Jordan said, swallowing. “Listen, if you're getting seconds thoughts, i'd rather you said something now and not later. I don't think I could handle you saying them later.”

“It's not that.” 47 said, though he didn't have a reasonable alternative ready. So he left those words as the only ones said, leaning back against Jordan and letting his lips find his pulse point.

“Look, I get it, we’re doing something pretty fucked up.” He said, not pushing 47 away, but also not moving against him like 47 craved. He wanted that movement back. The urgency. The need. 

“I don't see it as that.” He said finally, the words that came out his mouth next were far too honest for 47’s liking, yet they came out all the same. “I see it as something inevitable.” 

Jordan stilled. 47 felt him swallow. “You too?” He said quietly. 

47 only nodded. “Now, back on the bed.” 

Jordan lay back down. Though the urgency was gone for the moment, there was something else in his movements. Efficiency. As though he knew just how to move to get 47 to take notice, without having to exaggerate anything with some overzealous display, and it worked, 47 did just that, watching him with the same keen interest despite the now minimal display.

Once back against the bed, his body laying flat and posed in just a way to show the firm muscles of his ass, 47 trailed his hand across the skin, feeling the slip and slide of his digits against Jordan’s cleft. He dipped his fingers in again, thrusting them in and out in a slow languid motion, and despite the restraint Jordan seemed to be showing, the facade slowly began to crack, and as Jordan let out breathy moan, the flood gates opened, letting quiet pleas for more come forth soon after. 

47 obliged, unable to restrain himself any longer either. He found the bottle again, coating himself with a generous amount and with a silent command to Jordan, one uttered only with the barest touch on his hips, Jordan got up on his knees, pushing himself close to 47. 

Sliding into Jordan was a feeling 47 had never experienced and yet from the moment he did it, he knew it would never compare to anything or anyone else. The warmth, the tightness, the illicitness. With everything else about the man already clouding his mind, he fell further in, drowning in the sensation. He needed to lock this feeling away inside of him, and never let it go. The fear that it would soon become a vague memory, one he would recollect with a sense of fondness and regret, wouldn’t leave him, so he ignored it, leaning forward and taking in everything else about Jordan, his scent, his body, his everything.

He thrust faster and harder. Jordan's earlier plea’s returning, louder still, and echoed in 47's mind with the same earnestness as his pulse. He was overwhelmed, and before long, the feeling swallowed him whole, he made noises he knew he had never made before, said things no other person had ever heard him say. 

Gripping the skin of his hips, he pulled Jordan in tight as he tipped over the edge. A low moan left his throat, and like a bucket of water, he suddenly felt cool in the overheated room. He breathed in deep and felt Jordan keening underneath him, urging him to keep moving. 47 reached underneath him, and with his slowly softening cock still inside, he gripped Jordan, and jerked his cock hard and fast, knowing that deep underneath that pleasure it hurt just a bit.

That brief thought caused the darkness to cloud 47 for a moment, before it quickly evaporated. It was gone the moment he felt slickness in his hand, the moment Jordan’s moan reached his ears. He had quelled it once, and he had quelled it again. 47 marveled at it all as he pulled out, letting Jordan fall against the bed in a heap of limbs and sweat.

He didn't know how his face looked. Didn't want to know. He worried Jordan would see through it when he reached for him and pulled him close, but he didn't. 47 tucked in behind Cross, his arm wrapped around his body and holding him there. The warmth he felt in his chest was unusual, and it took him by surprise.

The allure of the moment slowly left as his common sense took over. He needed to get out of here. He’d had his fun, his moment of weakness, and now it was time for work.

Jordan fell asleep quickly, and 47 extracted himself from him as gently as he could. Going over to his discarded clothes, he found his small bag of tools. The sedative syringe was inside, and whilst he didn't expect Jordan to wake up any time soon, he couldn't risk him rejoining the party and seeing him as someone else.

He pressed the syringe into Jordan’s thigh and when his breathing leveled out, 47 clapped his hands together once. He received no response.

His Helmut disguise was thoroughly ruined, so no private meeting with Dahlia. Inside Helmut’s room however, he found some other clothes; a suit, as well as an invite for the private auction upstairs. He went into the adjoining bathroom and cleaned the makeup from his face, though most of it was either on Jordan or the bed. It came off with plenty of soap and scrubbing and once clean, he put on his fresh suit. With a final look at Jordan's sleeping body, he went to leave.

He wondered if he’d think of him.

No. In Jordan’s memory, he would be Helmut, and that was how he would remain for the rest of their respective lives. Every time Jordan would think of this night, whether it was with others or alone, he’d think of Helmut's touch on his skin. Not 47's. He couldn’t pinpoint why, but that thought stuck with him, leaving a faint ache that didn't fade even as the lights of Paris did.

**Author's Note:**

> There we have it! I hope you all enjoyed. 
> 
> I may write more about these two. I have plenty of ideas, after all, we must answer how this version of 47 would feel about a certain future contract of his involving a particular Indie rocker. 
> 
> But we shall have to see if I do get around to writing it, I probably will. Just very slowly. I will say if you would like to see more, please let me know! If there are a few of you interested, hey, it may give me the kick up the butt to actually write it. ;) 
> 
> Thanks for reading! :D


End file.
